It's a Scary World Out There
by muggleborn.dragon.ryder
Summary: No one should ever have to navigate this scary world alone. AU. Rated T for child abuse. Not slash.
1. Chapter 1

_**It's a Scary World Out There**_

_**Warnings: Rated T for child abuse, substance abuse, mild language, violence and angst. Not slash.**_

**A/N: Well, I've been wanting to write an HTTYD/RotG crossover for a long time and this is finally the result of my very first and millions of other ideas for it were dismissed. Now, as stated above, this is NOT a slash fic, not even close, and, while there is no Tangled, aspects of Tangled, or characters of Tangled in here in any whatsoever, the title is inspired from Mother Knows Best (one of my personal favorite songs :) I really feel that that song shows the depth of Mother Gothel's evilness and heartless cruelty, that line especially. I wanted to really impress upon people how scary and dark the world Jack and Hiccup live in really is and this chapter is merely meant to be a set-up for that, to show how well Hiccup hides it.**

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"Nice dragon."

Hiccup Overland looked up quickly and moved even quicker; it was really quite impressive for a boy currently making a 'D' in gym class.

Out of habit, he raised his arms to protect his head, sending his pencil flying out of his hand, across the distance separating him from the pretty, blonde girl less than two feet away and, thanks to his rotten luck, struck her squarely on the ear.

And then, as he slowly lowered his hands, he realized there was no danger; he was just doing what he did best, which was making a complete fool of himself. He scrabbled for his pencil, determined to apologize to whoever had startled him so badly – he couldn't recall their face, only their shocked expression when the pencil hit them in the nose – and felt his cheeks beginning to heat. It seemed that no matter how hard he tried, he never quite fit in anywhere.

_Gee, I wonder why, _sneered his inner sarcastic as he grasped gratefully at the thin wooden stick beneath his fingers. And then he raised his emerald gaze to meet the icy blue eyes of – gulp! – Astrid Hofferson and he suddenly knew the day was about to get a lot worse.

Astrid Hofferson was a big deal.

In the little town of Berk, she held the top spot for prettiest, most popular and most athletic. Her musical voice ensured that when she talked, any boy with hormones listened. Her long legs ensured that when she walked, they turned their heads to stare.

Seeing as Hiccup most definitely fell under the 'boys with hormones but no way to deal with them' category, he had harbored a hopeless crush on this girl for pretty much forever.

"Mind if I sit here?" There was no friendliness to her tone and he could immediately see why; he was still leaning down to grasp his pencil, gaping at her with his mouth slightly open.

"Everywhere else is full," she added in a slightly sharper voice – as if there was any way that Hiccup didn't know that. He surveyed the rest of the bus miserably, but it was true; the girl of his dreams was standing a mere foot away from him and he had no choice but to endure an awkward bus ride with her. He was busily asking himself if it was a blessing or just a terrible curse when he realized he had his backpack up on the seat beside him, ensuring himself that nobody would sit there.

It wasn't like they tried to; sure, there were a couple kids in his class that offered him sympathetic smiles when Snotlout Jorgenson shoved him in a locker and he managed to gasp his way out or when the other boy gave him a black eye or broken nose, but nobody ever offered to help him. Nobody wanted to be associated with the loser, with Hiccup the Useless. He set his backpack down with a solid thunk on the bus floor, clutching the strap a little tighter as he watched Astrid gracefully seat herself. He found himself fascinated by the way she was crossing her legs.

Her blue eyes drifted back to her seatmate's notebook and she took in the really rather awesome drawing of the dragon once more before turning her attention to other matters.

"Thought you didn't ride the bus," Hiccup mumbled, by way of making conversation. And then he nearly face-palmed. _Duh! Way to sound like some sort of stalker, Overland! _

Astrid, as if thinking the same thing, raised her eyebrows coldly and his blush went deeper.

Great. Just great. We're not even out of the school parking lot yet and I'm already making a complete fool of myself.

In his defense, he was shy and his hormones were raging and she was pretty. In his defense, he had never really had much experience with the opposite sex. In his defense…in his defense…oh, forget it. Let's be honest, Hiccup forgot his own name around Astrid Hofferson. His tongue forgot how to move, his brain forgot how to form coherent thoughts and his heart more than made up for it by beating at nearly double its regular speed.

His green eyes traveled over her again, taking her in appreciatively. Maybe it was shallow, but the reason he had even started liking her in the first place was because she was just so pretty. With her blonde hair, blue eyes, and smile that he felt was sure could melt glaciers in Antarctica (or maybe it just melted his heart – he wasn't sure on that score), she was a girl that was very hard to miss. Her performance on the Berk High track team drew her even more attention; her dedication to her athletics was another thing that had made him like her.

Was it shallow to have liked a girl because she was pretty? Hiccup wondered, trying to turn his gaze to the window, worried he was staring openly. Didn't fathers normally tell their sons what they were supposed to look for in a girl when they reached the proper age, or what? Was a nice chest on the list, or maybe a pretty face?

Astrid had obviously decided to grace his last – and rather feeble – question about riding the bus with an answer. "I normally don't," she responded coolly. "But both of my parents are too busy to pick me up. Not that it's any of your business."

Hiccup winced inwardly at her harsh tone. "I…uh…right. Sorry. No more questions."

Astrid rolled her eyes, reaching up to swipe her bangs out of her face, turning away from her awkward seatmate. She could feel him sneaking peeks at her every couple seconds, but she refused to acknowledge him, instead letting her attention wander around the rest of the bus.

There was Snotlout Jorgenson, tapping the new foreign exchange student – Henrettia? Hera? – on the shoulder and frantically scribbling down his number on a piece of paper while boasting loudly that his football coach had told him he was the best player he'd seen in a century.

There were the identical twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, decking each other over the heads repeatedly while nodding eagerly at random intervals in Snotlout's story; behind them sat Fishlegs, who was buried in a book, barely paying attention the mayhem on the bus.

Astrid relaxed as she sensed Hiccup shifting his gaze to something else; as she heard pages rustling, her curiosity overcame her coldness and she looked over to see if he was reading anything interesting.

Again, she was met with the strangely lifelike eyes and glistening black scales of a dragon, its stern green gaze reproaching her, almost, for ignoring him.

_Why should I try and talk to this boy? _she demanded furiously of the dragon. _I don't even know him!_

Great. Just great. She sighed inwardly. She was talking to inanimate objects now.

She sneaked another peek at him, and then dropped her eyes to his artwork. He was good at what he did, she thought grudgingly to herself.

As she became aware that the bus was slowing, his fingers grew stiller and stiller on the pencil until he'd stopped altogether. The bus pulled up in front of several dingy-looking houses and she watched Hiccup heave his backpack onto his shoulder.

"E-excuse me," he stuttered shyly. She tucked her feet up onto the seat to allow him to pass. She watched him disappear into a crowd of kids. She watched through the window as the others split into groups of twos and threes; she watched Hiccup as he stalked off away from the others alone, head bent down against the unseasonably cold September breeze.

The bus doors closed again and she set off, driving slowly away.


	2. Chapter 2

_**It's a Scary World Out There**_

**A/N: Hello, fellows! :) Thank you for all the reviews! I was really eager to get to the Jack parts, too, so here you are :)**

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Jack's chest was so tight that he felt like he couldn't breathe. He was aware of warm wetness soaking through his hair; his white strands had probably turned pale pink from the blood on the back of his head. He turned over, trying to quiet his gasps of pain.

_At least he's disappeared, _Jack comforted himself as his fingers met the hot blood in the back of his hair. When he pulled his fingers away, he barely noticed the vivid scarlet staining his fingers anymore; it had always been Hiccup who grew woozy at the sight of blood, not him.

In the distance, he could hear teenagers shouting to one another, going about their daily lives, hopping off the bus that was surely pulling into his neighborhood by now…and then he groaned loudly into the stained carpet, but it wasn't from pain.

If other kids were getting home by now, then that meant Hiccup was getting home by now and if Hiccup was getting home by now, then he would walk in the door any second and then he would panic and fuss over Jack for the longest time and Jack still didn't even know if he was gone for good or not.

He recited the same prayer he always did before Hiccup walked in the door. "Keep my brother safe," he whispered. "Please. Help me protect him, please."

He wasn't even sure who he was talking to half the time – he'd heard of God and he'd heard of other deities. He knew about the Nordic gods and goddesses, Loki, Thor, Odin, Freya, Frey and some of the others – their names ran together for Jack at some point – because last year Hiccup had taken a Norse mythology class and had come home every day brimming with knowledge.

Jack had let him ramble – he knew nobody else listened to his little brother and, besides that, hearing tales of people that had supposedly lived hundreds of years ago and dared to mess with the Nordic deities was a welcome distraction.

Still, he didn't really have anyone to pray to anymore. Judging by all those Nordic myths, they wouldn't be willing to help him.

But he still prayed, every day, for somebody or something out there to protect Hiccup, even if he couldn't. He was doing his best and he hoped with everything in him that he wouldn't fail…but he already had.

He had sworn to himself to keep Hiccup out of this, to protect him at all costs. He had failed the day Hiccup had come home from school to find Jack on the floor. It had been a day much like this one. Blood had been pouring freely from Jack's head and he had sustained several sharp blows to the back, the head and the chest. He had survived. He had gotten through it. But Hiccup had never been the same.

The sound of the front door opening brought Jack back to his senses. Black spots danced in his vision and he groaned and closed his eyes. And then he realized Hiccup might enter the room and think he was dead and he didn't want to scare his brother. He opened his eyes again to see the door closing. He could make out Hiccup's scrawny silhouette by the door, the sound of the boy's backpack hitting the floor and Jack sucked in a breath.

Dad doesn't like it when we leave our stuff laying around…please pick it up…

But when Hiccup reached the next room, there was still no bag in his hands. He saw his brother lying, crumpled and broken, on the stained and patched old carpet and he screamed. "Jack!"

"I'm okay." Jack tried to sound reassuring; hard when your voice isn't much more than a pained croak. He tried to sit up and found it much harder than he'd thought it'd be.

Hiccup fell to his knees beside his brother and studied the boy's pale face, the pale pink staining his hair. His lips tightened. "I don't like it when he hits you."

"Well, it's not like I enjoy it." Jack responded. Hiccup held out a hand and Jack used it to pull himself into a sitting position; he gave a slight gasp of pain as his movement disturbed several small injuries.

Hiccup's green eyes were sad and serious, the way they usually were. So unlike his brother's icy blues that always seemed to hold a sparkle, no matter how terrible the beating had been. Hiccup's eyes had lost their sparkle long ago. "This isn't a joke, Jack."

"I know that," Jack spoke through tightly gritted teeth, trying to find a certain way to sit that didn't make his side throb. "I'm being honest."

Hiccup dropped his gaze to the floor. "You'll need help with your head," he whispered. "It's bleeding."

"I'll take care of it," the white-haired boy insisted. "Just give me a minute."

"I can help." Hiccup tried to say, but Jack cut across him easily.

"No offense, Hic, but the last time I bled like this, you fainted. And vomited. And you weren't even the one with the injury," Jack reminded him, shifting his weight from side to side, preparing for the pain that was going to come when he tried to stand. "I think I can handle it without you, okay?"

"I…" Hiccup's shoulders slumped slightly. "I'm scared for you. I don't want anything to happen to you."

Jack turned to look at him, raising a skeptical brow. "I'll be fine. I am fine. Always have been, always will be, okay?" The black spots threatened in his vision again and he swayed on his feet.

"I think I should get you up to your room," Hiccup commented worriedly. "I don't want you to get hurt anymore."

"Relax," Jack mumbled, sinking back down onto the carpet, allowing his eyes to close for a brief moment. "I'll be fine. Dad's gone. You might want to pick your backpack up, by the way, remember. Dad doesn't like us leaving our stuff around."

Hiccup studied Jack with concern on his face for a long second and then he finally nodded. "Right. Right. I'll go…I'll go get it." He moved in the general direction of the door, his brow furrowed in worry.

Jack allowed himself to sink down onto the carpet with a sigh. Another day, another beating. Another hour to spend comforting Hiccup before the boy would let the matter drop.

The sad little world he had constructed for himself was only getting worse every day. And this was his last thought before the blackness won and he passed out.


	3. Chapter 3

_**It's a Scary World Out There**_

**A/N: Sorry for my long absence! But, I come to you with a new chapter and the promise of chapter four soon! I don't know exactly when, mind you. Telling you guys when I think I'll have it up is essentially asking for trouble, especially if I find myself too busy to write it xP But I hope you enjoy it (because I don't) **

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Jack had tried his hardest to protect Hiccup from day one. The memories would sometimes crash over Hiccup with frightening intensity, and mostly it would come with horrified realization that God, _this was his life_, and damn it, it really sucked.

He stood there, his fingers on his backpack strap, remembering all those times Jack would have a swollen cheek, a black eye, an unexplained bruise. He remembered all those times Jack used to tell Hiccup all these little lies, because the less he knew about what went on inside his very own home, the safer he was. Hiccup could still remember those lies, word-for-word. He had never had the need to use one, because his father had never hit him before. Jack was too careful, much too careful, for that.

Hiccup remembered he'd dropped out of school when he was fourteen, the younger boy still in middle school. Jack had done it because, of all things, Hiccup was getting out earlier than he was, putting the boy at risk for taking a beating from their father. And Jack didn't care about anything else but this. Hiccup had told him once that the world wouldn't end if Stoick laid a hand on him. He still remembered the way Jack's lips had tightened, his normally sparkling blue eyes turning serious. "Yes," he'd replied with a bit of a sigh, sweeping Hiccup's auburn strands back from his forehead with a sigh, "but my world would."

Thinking about that memory, of Jack's pale fingers in his hair, made Hiccup remember that once he had questioned why his brother's hair was white. He remembered his mother laughing a little as she explained that his hair wasn't actually white. Her hair was almost the same color, that pale blonde that made it appear the color of fallen snow.

Over the years, Jack's hair had turned lighter and lighter, the white strands turning limp, as if even his hair was showing what a miserable life he lived.

Hiccup remembered wondering why he looked so much different from his brother, at one point questioning if they were even related. Every child had gone through their 'what-if-I'm-adopted' phase, but it never felt like that to Hiccup. He just wondered if maybe he and his brother were from two different worlds, if maybe they were both adopted. Because, in all of his wild, imaginative thoughts, Jack always shared something with the younger boy. A past, a future, a present. Sometimes nothing more than a single moment.

He remembered tugging at his own hair, thinking to himself that he thought he looked a bit more like his father than he did his mother. The red hair, the green eyes, the rounded nose spoke of Stoick Overland clearer than his slight build, which he knew he'd inherited from Mary, their mother. Jack's own white-blonde hair came from their mother, but the broad shoulders were straight from their dad's side of the family.

Hiccup put a hand to his head, tugging at his red hair once again, reaching out to lift up his backpack with the other. And then he heard tires squealing in their driveway, a car door opening and shutting, and he stood, frozen and terrified and feeling ready to bolt. But he couldn't bolt. His hands were shaking on the strap of his backpack, but he refused to let himself rush upstairs and pull the covers over his head, the way he wanted to. His brother had already received such a horrible beating today; Hiccup wasn't going to stand by and let him take another one. His heart pounded as he heard the key turning slowly in the lock, the doorknob beginning to jiggle…and then the key jammed.

His mouth went dry. This was exactly the sort of thing Jack had always told him not to do. He remembered his brother's rules from when he first found out about the hitting.

He could hear the boy's voice in his ear so clearly.

"_Don't try to stop it, just let him rant. Yelling gets him to release some steam. Don't cry when he starts to yell and don't cry when he hits me. He hates crying. Just stay out of his way whenever he's angry, and let me handle him. I can do it better than you can." Jack stroked his brother's hair softly, letting the younger boy rest his cheek on the other boy's shoulder. Hiccup could smell pine trees and bonfires and freshly fallen snow on his brother's hoodie; the older boy always smelled like wintertime, a scent that had comforted Hiccup ever since he noticed it. Jack's fingers lightly tickled Hiccup's head as they continued to stroke, and his hands trembled slightly._

"_I'm sorry you had to see that." Jack continued, his voice strangely thick, as if he was trying to hold back tears._

_Hiccup's arms found their way around his brother's waist, his own eyes beginning to grow moist. But he didn't want to cry, because even if Jack sounded like he was, Hiccup knew that he wasn't. Jack never cried. Tears didn't look right, not on such a happy face as his. "I…I don't want him to hit you, Jackie. Can't you make him stop? Just ask him to stop. He'll do it. He loves you." he buried his face in his brother's hoodie, his shoulders beginning to shake from the sobs. Even back then, Hiccup was the only person allowed to call him Jackie._

_Jack gently hugged Hiccup back, one-armed, because he never took his other hand away from the top of his brother's head. "It's not that easy."_

"_It should be," Hiccup sniffed stubbornly, knowing he should feel embarrassed that he was bawling like this, but he didn't. He couldn't register anything but fear for his brother. "He loves you, remember? He'll stop if you ask him to, right?"_

"_Dad's under a lot of stress right now," Jack began slowly, tilting Hiccup's chin upward so he could look the boy in the eye. "He needs some way to get it out. He'll stop once…once he just finds a new way." The boy swallowed._

_Hiccup brightened. "We could help him find a new way, and then he'd never hit you again!" He jumped up from the bed, then, tugging Jack's hand, trying to pull him along, though of course he had no strength. "C'mon, let's go tell him that!"_

"_Hiccup." His older brother's strong arms encased him, tugging him back down onto the bed. "It's not that easy."_

_Hiccup slumped down onto the mattress. "Why…why not? You said all he needs is a way to get out his stress, right?" _

"_It's not that easy." Jack repeated softly, beginning to stroke Hiccup's hair again. "Don't worry. He'll find a new way in time. I'm sure of it."_

The knob began to twist again. The key was going for another try. The door creaked open, and Hiccup could hear the man swearing up a blue streak as he entered the house, muttering to himself more than anything. He walked right by Hiccup as if he wasn't even there, fiddling with his ring of keys. Looking at them as if they held all the secrets to the universe.

Hiccup watched the man draw nearer and nearer to Jack's prone body. _Don't let him start beating him again. Please don't make Dad beat Jack again. Protect my brother._

"What the hell?" Stoick mumbled, barely audible, as he saw his oldest son upon the carpeted floor, his normally glistening white hair now stained pink from blood. Hiccup slowly edged into the room, waiting for the explosion.

Stoick kicked him first. Jack's face twisted in pain, but he didn't open his eyes. "Up," Stoick barked harshly. "Get up."

"He won't wake up." Hiccup whispered, mostly to himself. This was a mistake; Stoick's burning eyes fixed on the younger boy instead, one hand curling into a fist, getting ready to strike Jack.

"What did you say?" the man demanded.

Hiccup swallowed, trying to straighten up. His father hated it whenever they slouched. "You've…you've got to give him time to wake up." Hiccup mumbled, his eyes darting around the living room. Mapping out an escape route. The stairs on one side, the front door on the other. Hiccup was closer to the door. "You were too hard on him." His voice gained a bit of strength.

Stoick's stony silence only left Hiccup the room to think, _oh, God, now I've done it._

"He's weak," Stoick responded stonily. "Too weak to even take a little roughhousing? Goddamn it, what kind of sons have I raised? Weaklings?"

"He's not weak!" Hiccup snapped. "You hurt him!"

"A man should be able to take that!"

"He's not a man!" Is that me, Hiccup wondered hazily. Is that me yelling at my father like that? "In case you haven't noticed, he's just a kid, Dad. Let me take him up to his room."

The blow came as a shock. The slap felt harder than he expected, even though Stoick's hand was open. Hiccup went tumbling down onto the dirty carpet, and his fall seemed to last forever. His impact with the floor was painful, and his body protested. He ground his teeth together, knowing Jack had just been through so much worse.

Stoick's yells were too loud in his ears, and the words seemed slurred and indistinct. And that's when Hiccup knew why the man seemed angrier, even more on edge than he normally did. He smelled strongly of alcohol and Hiccup knew he had just come straight from the bar. He took his cues from Jack by now; with fists constantly hammering on his body, he curled up into a ball, his hands protecting his head. The defense was weak, and Stoick was easily able to rip his arms away, but at least he'd tried. His body throbbed in agony, and a small cry left his throat. He could feel tears beginning to build, but he wasn't upset for himself. He was crying not from the blows that were sure to come, the pain and the bruises he would have to explain away at school the next day, but because he was wondering if this was how Jack felt. Terrified and helpless, wanting to run but unable to move from your defenseless position on the floor. Horribly vulnerable, screams building in your throat, but knowing if you try, he'll just clap a hand over your mouth and beat you with his other hand.

A salty tear trickled down his face, and Stoick sneered, reaching up with one fist. The blow sent Hiccup rolling back onto the wooden floor of the kitchen, farther than ever away from the front door, but so near the back porch. Hiccup squeezed his eyes closed, but he didn't need to. His world was already threatening to turn black.


	4. Chapter 4

_**It's a Scary World Out There**_

**A/N: Hi, guys! See, chapter four was up soon! :D Thank you guys for the reviews, please continue to leave them! **

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Jack awoke to yelling, horribly loud yelling that pounded in his sore head and attacked his ears. It took him a few minutes to remember what was happening, but when he did, his gut clenched. His father was standing over him, screaming, and Hiccup was upstairs probably hearing every word…

_Turn on music, Hiccup. Plug your ears. Hum. Don't listen to this._

But, though he waited for a good ten minutes, even after the yelling stopped and the thuds and thumps began, there was no kick, no punch. For the first time he could ever remember, his father seemed to be turning his anger away from his son and towards the house instead.

And then the yelling started up again.

"WHY I PUT UP WITH YOU…SHOULD HAVE TOSSED YOU OUT ON THE STREETS YEARS AGO…"

Jack tentatively peeked up, looking around for the man. And his heart jumped with what he saw.

Stoick was not standing over him, but what Jack saw made him wish he was. No, his father wasn't angrily kicking him, or hitting him or even punching furniture – he was turning those hammer-like fists on Hiccup, who was curled up on the floor, his arms over his head. His whole body was shaking, and Jack's head went into protective overdrive. He was instantly up off the floor, his own injuries forgotten, holding his head, on his feet, rising up to strike back against the man, to turn his anger upon his older son instead.

He ran straight for the man, stumbling over himself, his body begging him to stop. Every bruise, every kick, every punch… Jack was finally feeling the pain and all of the physical torment dragged at him, causing him to hit the ground. He struck the carpet hard, but was immediately rising up off his elbows, glaring at Stoick with a cold hatred as he tried to get to his feet again.

"Leave him alone!" he managed to yell, but this was all he could say before he somehow wound up on the floor again.

"Shut up!" Stoick snarled, releasing Hiccup in favor of the older boy. He kicked Jack in the ribs, forcing the boy to stay down for a few more minutes and walked past him. For a moment, Jack couldn't believe he'd gotten off that easily, with just a kick in the ribs, and then he remembered – his father had just been taking his anger out on Hiccup.

His heart thumping so hard, it surely should have jumped out of his chest, he tried to rise, found he couldn't, and decided instead to crawl over to his brother. When he reached the boy, his body still and white, Jack found tears beginning to build in his eyes. He hadn't cried since his mother's funeral, hadn't cried whenever Stoick beat him, because he knew Hiccup needed reassurance that he was okay. He never cried anymore, because Hiccup needed him too much, needed him to be strong. If he'd ever allowed himself to be weak, Hiccup's trust in Jack's strength would have been shattered a long time ago.

But tears began to trickle out of his eyes now as he stared down at his brother, curled up on the floor, arms thrown weakly over his head, indescribably vulnerable. Jack carefully tried to get to his feet once more and, without hesitating, he grabbed his unconscious brother up with him, his eyes filling with tears again.

It was a stumbling, half-walk half-crawl kind of transportation that Jack did, but he managed to make it up to Hiccup's bedroom without incident. And then he brought out their small supply of medical things, looking them over. The burn ointments and bandages weren't needed – Stoick hadn't touched Jack's hand to a stove eye or threatened him with a knife for a couple weeks.

The only thing he really needed was an ice pack, Jack decided, but his ribs hurt so much, too much, and he knew if he made it downstairs, he wasn't going to be able to come back up. And he had to stay here…Hiccup needed him.

And so, with fear choking him at the thought of what he would find, Jack turned to Hiccup. He meant to assess the boy's injuries, but he found himself beginning to cry, finding the tears filling his eyes and overflowing again. He had never imagined that his father would lay a hand on his brother, if only he kept taking the beatings. And now…

He buried his head in the blankets on Hiccup's bed, feeling the tears leaving his eyes quickly. Sobs choked him, and every time he thought he had it together, that he thought he could handle it, it only took one look at the bruise blooming over Hiccup's eyebrow, or the bright red welt slowly turning purple on his cheek, to send him over the edge again.

After a little while, he heard the front door opening and then closing as his father left the house, and that was his cue to pull himself together.

"Okay." he whispered slowly to himself, rising up from the bed. "You're gonna be okay, Hiccup. It's just…just a bruise." he slowly lifted his gaze from the bed covers to Hiccup, feeling sure that he had just cried himself out. But there were more tears there and they fell down his cheeks and built up in his eyes when he slowly began to brush Hiccup's hair back from his forehead, examining the bruise above his eyebrow.

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Hiccup awoke to see his brother's tear-stained face leaning over him, fingering the welt on his cheek.

"What…what are you doing?"

Jack's blue eyes sparkled with tears as he spotted Hiccup. "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You provoked him, didn't you? I told you to stay out of his way, and you got yourself hurt!" For one awful moment, Hiccup thought his brother was going to burst into tears, but the boy controlled himself. He took a slow breath, exhaling for a long time before speaking again. "What happened?"

"Nothing." Hiccup replied, sitting up and gently pushing Jack's hands away. He winced slightly and Jack heard some muscle pop. "I didn't do anything."

Jack folded his arms in an 'I'm-not-convinced' look. "Hiccup…"

Hiccup sat upright, swinging his legs over the side. "I'm fine, honestly."

Before he could get up, however, Jack leaned up, gently touching the bruise on Hiccup's cheek. His face pinched in a pained expression, and then, with the air of one who has made a difficult decision, he stood and began walking out. "Stay." he commanded his little brother, and then he realized it sounded like he was talking to a dog, and Hiccup certainly was no dog, despite having the loyalty, and the eager, large eyes. "Put." Jack added quickly, and then he felt awkward, so he added, "There," as well.

Hiccup nodded, but he looked confused. Jack was loathe to leave his brother with injuries that had not yet been taken care of, but he still continued onward, his side protesting in agony. He entered his own bedroom. Hiccup heard the door creak shut behind his brother, and all was silent for a few seconds. When Jack reentered the room, wincing slightly, Hiccup noticed bruises blooming on the older boy's face. When Jack's blue eyes instantly went to the welt on Hiccup's cheek, the younger boy thought that his brother might finally understand how hard it had been for him all these years.

Jack opened his palm to show Hiccup a small sum of money clutched in his palm: a few twenties, some change, and about twelve little dollar bills.

"And this is for…?" Hiccup asked, raising an eyebrow to look up at his older brother.

Jack frowned, sinking to his knees beside Hiccup's bed again and taking the boy's hand. "Pack some essentials. A couple changes of clothes. Do it quickly, okay? I'm gonna call a taxi."

"What?" Hiccup jumped up, suddenly alarmed. "Wh…where are we going?"

"Away." Jack replied simply. Upon seeing Hiccup's confused expression, he elaborated. "Listen, Hiccup," he slowly put a hand on Hiccup's cheek – the bruised one. Hating himself for that bruise, he continued softly, "I promised myself that if things ever got this bad, if he ever reverted to hitting you, even once, I would take off with you, straightaway. I'm going to keep that promise." His blue eyes were full of anguish. "I've broken so many to you already about keeping you safe…I need to keep this one."

"We can't leave!" Hiccup's green eyes went wide and terrified. "He'll find us, Jack, and he'll beat you even worse!"

"No, he won't," Jack responded softly. "He won't find us. Just hurry, okay, he could come back." He took his hand off Hiccup's cheek and slowly went downstairs, wincing a bit from the pain in his ribs, but deciding to utterly ignore it until he was in a better place to assess his injuries. Perhaps he should ask the taxi to first deliver them to a doctor's office, he thought wryly.

Did he even have enough money for a taxi and a doctor? he wondered worriedly, glancing down at the bills clutched in his fist. He hoped so. If there wasn't enough for both he and Hiccup, Hiccup would have to go first. He picked up the phone, hesitating as he began to dial the number of the nearest taxi company. So much could go wrong, and if he took them to a doctor, the doctor would know what had happened to them. The welt on Hiccup's cheek, the state of Jack's side, which was rapidly bruising, he saw as he raised his hoodie up a bit to look at it. The doctor would _know_.

He began to redial and put the phone to his ear, listening to the ringing in his ears and the sound of his brother upstairs, packing for a new journey into the unknown, just like the one they had taken all those years ago, when Stoick had first smacked his son across the face.


	5. Chapter 5

**_It's a Scary World Out There_**

**A/N: ****SURPRISE**

**Yes, this is the surprise. Updating all of my eighteen in-progress fics at once. It was pretty crazy, but I did it, and it's here, and good day to you all! I had tons of fun doing this, so I hope you guys have tons of fun reading this!**

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Hiccup slowly grabbed the overlarge brown jacket from its hanger in his closet, stuffing it into his backpack. He dumped out all his textbooks, pencils, homework sheets and crumpled drawings. If Jack was serious about this, he would have no need of these things anymore. He heard his brother's quiet, soothing voice from all the way up the stairs, speaking into the phone, asking for a taxi to come pick them up. He gave the address, said there would be two people riding, mumbled his thanks, muttered a goodbye, and hung up.

Hiccup sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, pulling the jacket back out and folding it neatly to give his hands something to do. Jack was serious. They were leaving. They were really going, they were really running away. He swallowed, unsure what to think, what to feel. On the one hand, he was almost glad that his father had turned his anger upon him instead of his older brother; it had at last opened Jack's eyes, and the white-haired boy would finally escape the constant, never-ending abuse. It was all made worse by the fact that neither never really knew what would set Stoick off – it could have been something as simple as opening their mouths, to something as extreme as saying their mother's name again. Anything would make him curl his hands into fists and start towards them, and of course Jack would always tell Hiccup to go upstairs until all was safe again.

On the other hand, however, a part of Hiccup felt very small and scared when he imagined running away. Even if their father beat them, even if their father didn't always buy them food, and if he did, he never prepared it…even through all of that, at least they had a roof over their heads. At least they had something small to eat in the back of the pantry every night, at least they were able to make a meager supper out of whatever had not expired yet. At least they had clothes upon their backs, and water whenever they wanted it. At least they could shower whenever they pleased, at least they had had the chance for education.

Or at least, Jack had had the chance for education, up until the beatings turned so brutal and violent and frequent that he dropped out of his freshman year, knowing Hiccup, then in middle school, would be getting out before him and not wanting to leave his brother alone like that. Yet even when Hiccup tried to do the same, tried to protect Jack the way Jack protected him, the white-haired boy simply wouldn't let him.

He remembered Jack insisting that it was his job to protect Hiccup, because Hiccup was younger and weaker and more vulnerable and he was not to challenge their father whatsoever, he was not to openly try and turn the man's wrath on him. It was one of the only fights the two brothers, who were as close as could be, had ever had.

Jack appeared suddenly in the doorway, jerking the other boy out of his reverie. "The taxi will be here soon. They said it'll take about fifteen minutes. Pack some warm clothes, it's autumn."

"What I don't get," Hiccup mumbled, more to himself than to his brother, "is why I see you every day, covered in blood and injuries, and yet I get one tiny bruise and we decide to leave. We couldn't have left when, I don't know, you had to drop out of school to keep hiding it? When you couldn't leave the house for days on end because the bruises wouldn't fade?"

Jack's blue eyes flashed, warning Hiccup to quit speaking. "I wouldn't exactly call what you have a tiny bruise. You'll want to hide it before the taxi comes, I don't want the driver asking questions about us."

"How?" Hiccup demanded, now thoroughly exasperated with his brother as he grabbed his warmer clothes and started shoving them roughly in the backpack. "You can't laser bruises off, last I checked."

Jack rolled his eyes and left the room, only to return moments later with a round pot of what looked like the kind of powder that their mother used to apply. "Here. It's what I use whenever I need to go out and get food if I have bruises. There should still be some left in there."

Hiccup twisted the black lid, and a puff of pale brown powder gusted out, blowing away in the air. He cautiously dabbed a finger into the powder.

"Be careful." Jack's icy anger melted for a moment, his eyes shining with concern. "You don't want to press too hard on the bruise, that'll make it hurt."

Hiccup began to cautiously apply the powder onto the purple mark, but Jack didn't stick around to watch; he left the bedroom and went back into his own and, when Hiccup had finished and went back to return the pot, he saw his brother was packing as well. The pronounced difference, however, was that while Hiccup was packing with relative ease, Jack was wincing and swearing with every movement, clearly in a great deal of pain.

"Do you have the money to go to a doctor's office?" Hiccup ventured quietly, setting the pot down on the edge of his older brother's bed. "You look like you could do with a check-up."

"We're getting you looked at first," Jack replied, straightening up from bending over his pale blue backpack and reaching for the last article of clothing in his closet; it was amazing how little he seemed to own. "Then, maybe I'll do it, too. I think there's a free clinic a couple miles from here, and walk-ins are welcome. I'll ask the driver to drop us off there. If we have the money, he'll pick us up after we're done and drive us… somewhere else."

Hiccup nodded. "Right."

"Go finish packing, the taxi should be here any minute," Jack added briskly. "I'm going to go downstairs and grab whatever food I can find that won't spoil, alright?"

Hiccup nodded again and left the room, going back to his own open pack. He had already shoved the only clothing he owned within, which was only a pair of jeans more than what Jack had, because his brother had insisted on spending whatever money he earned on Hiccup instead of himself.

The younger boy sighed softly, looking disconsolately around his tiny, plain bedroom. It might not have been much, but it was all he had, and he could still hardly believe that they were leaving everything behind. He zipped up his backpack and followed his brother down the stairs. He knew he wouldn't need anything else from his room. The trinkets within his bedroom were nothing more than sentimental artifacts. The stuffed bear that Jack had once won in a carnival, but when he'd actually gotten the life-size panda, he'd flatly declared that it was creepy and he would never be able to fall asleep with those huge eyes watching him. Hiccup had happily volunteered to give the panda a home, so it rested still upon his bed. And then there were the drawings the whole family had done, when they entered a Draw Your Dragon competition, the prize being some silly thing that Hiccup couldn't remember now, something they didn't win. He and his mother had been obsessed with dragons when he was young, and they had convinced the other two to enter. Jack was only interested in dragons if they breathed ice instead of fire, as winter was his favorite season, and Stoick told them it was no good talking about dragons when they didn't exist.

Somehow, however, Hiccup had convinced everyone to enter, and so they had all drawn a dragon of their choice, made a copy and sent the copies in. Nobody had much cared about their originals, so Hiccup had tacked them up on his wall, right over his light switch.

Of course, this had all been so many years ago, back when they were a whole family, back when they had four members. And then they had gone down to three, and then they had been left with only two, from the moment Stoick had smacked Jack across the face.


	6. Chapter 6

_**It's a Scary World Out There**_

**A/N: Guys, for one, I am so so so so so so so so SO SO SO SO SO SO SORRY for LIKE FREAKING ABANDONING THIS FIC FOR LIKE EIGHTEEN MONTHS WHY DID I DO THAT I'M SO SORRY DDDDDD: I don't know why but writing this takes a lot out of me. It's how I feel with Break of Dawn and stuffs too, like I just I write a chapter and I just feel totally spent. It's really weird because there are other stories I can write on that I just write on and it just makes me feel like writing more. But with this, I just feel like no. I'm all written out, I don't know if I can possibly update anything else tonight. It's really weird.**

**Anyway, I am so sorry D: I really hope chapter 7 will be up soon, but no promises. I don't want to make a promise that I can't keep, you know? That'd be ugly. :P **

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Hiccup was acutely aware of just how tense he was; he could feel every muscle in his body. He was on alert, he was listening for the sounds of a car, and every time it came, it had him dashing to the window, forgetting just how to swallow, his heart in his throat as he looked up and down the street. If their father came home right now, there would be no escaping, and no denying what they had tried to do. Nonetheless, he was poised for fight or flight; if it came down to it, he was not going to let Jack take the blame for this one. That had been going on far too long. Jack was his _brother_, his protector, his best friend, his only friend.

He could hear the opening and closing of cabinets as Jack searched the pantry for any food they had that would keep for awhile. Outside the window, he heard another car, and mechanically walked over to the window to check that it was not their father. It wasn't.

Footsteps yanked the fourteen-year-old out of his reverie, and when he thought to check where Jack was going, the older boy had already reentered the living room, a roll of green bills in his hand. He counted the money, then stuffed it in his jacket pocket.

"What…what are you doing?" It was hard for Hiccup to speak, because his throat was so dry.

"What does it look like?" Jack's response was sharp and immediate – almost as if he had expected Hiccup to ask.

Hiccup's eyes traveled over to his father's bedroom door, which was now slightly ajar. "Jack, that's not a good idea…"

"Why?" The older brother snorted. "Because you think I'll get in trouble? We're leaving. He can't punish me."

"Yeah, but…but…" Hiccup found it hard to explain. "That's Dad's _money_. What's he going to do without it?"

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Are you worried he's going to die because he's missing a couple twenties? Good. That's good. I hope he does."

"Jack!"

Thin lips tightened. "He hurt you." He lifted his blue eyes to his brother's face, hating himself for the bruise that lurked there, hidden. If he'd just been a better brother, it would never have happened at all…

"He hurt _you_," Hiccup replied, shoving his hair out of his eyes as he talked. The dark auburn strands fell right back into place. "And I'm still not wishing for him to die."

The sound of yet another car sent him scampering over to the window; even if Jack had had a response, Hiccup wouldn't have heard it. "Jack." The boy's voice was suddenly sharp. He sounded older now. "It's the taxi."

"Right." Jack refused to let his calm older brother façade slip. Hiccup would get scared if he knew Jack was scared. "Grab your bag, we're going."

Hiccup dashed across the living room to pick up the fraying backpack, the contents light, easy to carry. Jack bit his lip to stop himself from saying anything he might later regret, walked across the room, and opened the door.

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The interior of the taxi was cool, but surprisingly dark and Hiccup drew instinctively closer to his older brother upon entering the car, pressing his head against Jack's shoulder. Jack absently ran his fingers through his brother's hair, working out the tangles with his hands as the driver inquired of them where they wanted to go.

"Silverton Care Clinic," Jack worked to keep his internal panic to a minimum as the driver nodded and seemed to start the engine much too slowly. He expected the dirty white truck that haunted his nightmares to come screeching down the street suddenly, his father's face red from alcohol consumption, and twisted in anger. He rested his chin on Hiccup's head, listening to the boy breathing shallowly below him, and he thought wryly what a pair of hooligans they must look like. Beaten and bruised, broken and battered and half-assed makeup jobs to cover what they could, with over or undersized clothes and backpacks full of only those items that were essential to their survival. Anyone could see they were running away and, if they looked close enough at the bruises, they could also see what they were running from.

The taxi slowed to a stop outside the clinic, and as Jack pushed open the door and hauled Hiccup to his feet, the driver looked at them curiously. Jack wondered nervously if their intentions really were that obvious to anyone looking at them.

"Am I to stay?"

"Um…" Jack mentally counted the money he had taken from the house, adding it all together in his head. The clinic wouldn't charge them – he had passed by the signs all his life advertising the free service and the welcoming of walk-ins, but he didn't think it a good idea to use any more than they had to on the taxi. "No," he finally sighed, pulling out the proper amount of money and handing it off to the driver. "No, you're not needed any longer." He turned and tugged his reluctant brother up the steps and into the clinic.


End file.
